tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49787366836329638392024-02-18T23:20:22.223-08:00Most Latest VegetableAnna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-60254649925921923822013-08-14T11:35:00.000-07:002013-08-14T11:45:34.081-07:00A Rare BeastMy counselor has been faintly horrified at how down on myself I am. She said I've been taking responsibility for other people's projections of me and that it's had a terrible effect on my self esteem. Part of the goal of the counseling was to parse which aspects of my personality were factory standards, and which were actual character flaws or sins. I've learned that a lot of what people don't like or misunderstand about me is not actually a problem with me. This has been a revelation to me. We've been delving deep into the realms of INTP-dom. I feel relieved. I feel healed. I feel incredibly grateful to God that it's okay to be the squarest peg. Besides the old sin nature (which is everything wrong with me), there's nothing wrong with me.<br /><br />
One of the exercises I've been doing is looking for other INTPs in literature and film. I am using those examples to construct a lifecycle of the INTP. And I'm incredibly excited about it because it suggests a steady upward trajectory toward blinding awesomeness. Sadly, women are little represented in the sample, but women are a tiny fraction of what is already a rare type. I always gravitated toward male characters anyway, out of a sense that men did the exciting stuff and got to be heroic without having to apologize for it (or prepare the post-battle picnic).<br /><br />
<b>Early Life:</b> Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. I would characterize the childhood of an INTP as one long daydream. I know, and my mother ruefully remembers, how completely out to lunch I used to be. She has remarked that I was so dreamy you could have tied a string to my feet and flown me as a kite.<br /><br />
<b>Teens and early 20s:</b> Kamina from the anime Gurren Lagann. This one surprised me. I've seen a decent amount of this show, and Kamina struck me as an arrogant, grandiose blowhard. But when I look back at my teens, I have to own it. I was embarrassingly grandiose and *mumbles* maybe a tiny bit arrogant and *whispers* slightly pompous. (My ESFJ mother died laughing when I admitted it.)<br /><br />
<b>Late 20s and 30s:</b> Aramis from The Three Musketeers and Geordi La Forge from Star Trek: The Next Generation. This is the mastery phase where the INTP consolidates their knowledge base and implements it. Careers and confidence are built during this time. I'm currently working my way through Star Trek: TNG and I definitely have a soft spot for Geordi. He's clearly the master of his domain, engineering, and it's an important role. He is kind, gentle, respected, and well-liked...and none of that can get him laid. I think it's a bit pathetic how he keeps running into scenarios with women where he says things like, "I feel like I know you. I thought we could be friends." and the subtext is always, "Please make out with me!!!" It makes him seem like a bit of a sad little potato, but I know I bristle at it because the characterization is all too accurate. I'm relieved I married so young and didn't really have to navigate dating. Maybe my experience as a woman would have been different, but I rather doubt it.<br /><br />
I like the Aramis characterization much, much better. It doesn't hurt any that Charlie Sheen's portrayal in the 1993 film was just delicious. (It's such a shame when actors get old and weird.) Aramis is an enticing blend of cautious but fearless, reserved, but possesses ironclad friendships. A fighter, but an intellectual. Cool as a cucumber and sexy as all get out. I slogged through all of Alexandre Dumas' Musketeer books in high school, and while Dumas has an open preference for ESTP D'Artagnan, to me, Aramis was always the most sympathetic character.<br /><br />
<b>Midlife:</b> John MacClane from the Die Hard series. I'm excited to see how the overt militancy of this character translates into real life when I grow into this stage. I think it's important to note that MacClane is a very reluctant hero. He resists involvement until something dear to him (family or principles) are unequivocally threatened. But once he's dragged into conflict, he's all in. Failure is not an option. Instigators will be annihilated. If I were to extrapolate to the wider INTP personality, if you close off all options to an INTP except a single, negative option, prepare for the INTP to go nuclear. It takes a lot to open the can of whoop-ass, but once it's open, an enraged INTP will make you drain the last drop and eat the can. Once the crisis passes, the INTP is embarrassed by any attention and longs to quietly return to the daily routine.<br /><br />
<b>Old age:</b> Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings series. This is where justice, wisdom, and leadership find their pinnacle. Really, really hope I end up here!
Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-75353300193815850282012-08-10T12:18:00.002-07:002013-08-14T11:40:15.973-07:00Standards for StuffMy quest to scale down and pare back continues. Below are some questions to consider when looking at one's belongings and prospective purchases. <br /><br />
<b>For items already owned:</b><br /><br />
Does this fit me? (Whether physically or emotionally, where I am now and who I want to be?)<br /><br />
If it does not physically fit, can it be altered? Is it worth the hassle and/or cost?<br /><br />
Does this have negative memories or emotions associated with it?<br /><br />
Do I love it?<br /><br />
Is it unique or beautiful?<br /><br />
Does seeing it around my house amuse me or otherwise bring me pleasure?<br /><br />
Do I use it regularly?<br /><br />
Does it fill a specific need or do double duty?<br /><br />
Does owning it and maintaining it actively add value to my life?<br /><br />
Am I keeping it for a dream lifestyle that exists only in my head?<br /><br />
If gotten rid of, would it be difficult to reacquire if it was needed after all?<br /><br />
Do I know somebody who would benefit more by being given this item than the use I am currently (or not) getting out of it?<br /><br />
Can I consume the content of the item in such a way that I don’t have to store it? (digital media)<br /><br />
<b>For prospective purchases:</b><br /><br />
Does this work with what I already have?<br /><br />
Is it a more attractive or durable replacement for something I’ve used a lot?<br /><br />
If I buy it, will I use it frequently enough to justify the cost-per-use?<br /><br />
If this isn’t an emergency and I am unsure whether I’ll enjoy the item long-term, do I know somebody I can borrow it from to try it out first?<br /><br />
Am I feeling less-than in some way and am I shopping to make the feeling go away?<br /><br />
Does the item live up to the high standards of what I already own?<br /><br />
Is the item worth the time I worked for the money and the time it will take to maintain it?<br /><br />
Will purchasing this item slow down my long-term goals?Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-16075906247470757082012-07-18T10:30:00.000-07:002012-07-18T10:30:09.923-07:00What do I want?I've been reading a lot about minimalist lifestyles lately. I know, cue the superstitious shudder. But I think there's a lot to glean from the perspectives of those who purposely downsize their lives to free up time, energy, and money. The whole spirit behind minimalism is identifying your core values and aligning your priorities to match. So what are 10 things I want out of life?
1. I want to work fewer hours someday.
2. I want to have more time to hang out with my husband. After all, I do kinda like the guy.
3. I want to spend less time maintaining a house and yard.
4. I want to someday live in a semi-urban, walkable area. The picture I have in my mind's eye is downtown Chattanooga's River District, but I'm not limited to that city by any means.
5. I want to get to know every nook, cranny, restaurant, and attraction of whatever city I live in.
6. I want to reduce my environmental footprint. I'm by no means an obnoxious hippie type, but I do take stewardship of the earth seriously.
7. I want to practice more intentional hospitality - as in, inviting people over as opposed to simply having an open house for our single friends.
8. I want to be able to take off on an adventure at a moment's notice.
9. I want to become well-off so I can meet needs within my church and donate frequently to charity.
10. I want to travel the world with my husband.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-92182043471380877362012-06-17T10:17:00.002-07:002012-06-18T08:07:18.477-07:00Punting the AnklebitersThis summer is already emotionally tough for me and it's only halfway through June. Several factors have converged to create an ugly mess. Like a pimple you think you've squeezed out, but it won't heal because it keeps refilling under the scab and you realize there were three clogged pores, not one.<br /><br />I recently read an article that made me choke on my lungs. <a href="http://http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0002560.cfm">This</a> specifically deals with raking over a childish, unreliable father. That wasn't my problem. The 2x4 to the heart came when I read these words: <br /><br /><blockquote>Tommy's eyes lit up.<br /><br />"Wow," he said. "Amazing. What you just described is a dead-on, classic symptom of something called 'projective identification.'"<br /><br />"Good gracious, what's that?"<br /><br />"It manifests itself in different ways, but one of them is when people tell painful stories just to get a sympathetic reaction. It gives them a little high when the other person says, 'Oh, my goodness! I can't believe you went through that.'"<br /><br />"What's wrong with that?" I asked. "People do it all the time."<br /><br />"You're right – they do – but the problem is the person isn't dealing with his own junk – he's getting someone else to do it. And you especially see people do this when they've gone through painful experiences they haven't properly grieved."<br /><br />It was exciting, in a way, to get a concrete diagnosis from Tommy, but it was also disturbing. If he was right, if I was retelling these stories so I could watch the listeners process my baggage – rather than do it myself – then I was basically just using these people.</blockquote><br /><br />I can't pretend I don't do that. I've been locked away from my emotions so long that telling the story of the 6 agonizing years before I escaped to college feels to me like I'm gossiping about someone else's sad life. "Isn't she brave? Bless her heart, to have gone through all that, and she <span style="font-style:italic;">doesn't even drink?</span> The narrator shakes her head in mock-sympathetic admiration.<br /><br />I also had a person from my past resurface suddenly whom we'll call Number 24. A man from my church back home, who went to middle and high school with me. We carpooled. I had a terrible crush on him that the entire church knew about (so it seemed). He and his wife just got out of seminary with counseling degrees (gulp) and moved to Charleston to find work. They're attending my church. (double gulp) So now Will and I are thrown together with this sweet, outgoing couple with fresh training, and one of them remembers me clearly from the bad old days. (triple gulp) I admit to a minor freakout when I heard Number and Mrs. 24 were moving here. It wasn't all vanity that I didn't want to have someone around who knew me when I was dumpy and belligerent; I also didn't want to tar this couple with my brush of old, sticky pain. I wanted to get to know Number 24 as an adult, and Mrs. 24 as her delightful self, free of association.But of course, in catching up and talking about the old days, it's all coming up again because my memories are dyed dark with the pain and grief, and this kind and compassionate couple, with their fresh training, are all too ready to practice on me.<br /><br />
The next straw on my back comes from my pastor. He's been preaching a series of summer homilies on the petty anklebiter sins that we keep around because they don't seem that harmful. This morning's was on anxiety. I didn't used to be an anxious person, a worrier. Worrying puts one outside of gratitude for God's provision. It cuts you off from the body of the church. He encouraged us to adopt one sin to focus on uprooting this summer. I think my unlovely pet is going to have to be anxiety. I worry constantly. I don't trust anyone but myself. This includes God, my husband and my parents. That's what happens when you're in free fall and the people around you, the church, God's people, don't roll out a net. And God ignores your screams when you hit the pavement. The screams cursing Him for not saving you. The screams begging Him to send help. The screams begging Him to put you out of your misery, because you cannot live with the pain. And eventually, you lie on your face in your pulped body long enough that your twisted bones knit together enough that you can get up and lurch away, an unrecognizable mockery of your former self. And then you get blamed for being twisted and ugly by the people who didn't catch you. Because what doesn't kill you doesn't always make you stronger. Sometimes it makes you horribly disfigured. That's how a carefree, spontaneous, trusting child becomes a worrier.<br /><br />
And finally, there's my husband. I've kept him at arm's length too long. He deserves better. He deserves a wife who has healed, not a shattered porcelain doll who sits on a shelf insisting she's ready to play, <span style="font-style:italic;">even though her legs are in a Ziploc bag taped to the back of her dress.</span><br /><br />I want to have an emotionally open relationship with my husband. I want to forgive the people who let me down. I want to learn to trust God again, to recover the innocent faith of the child I was. I want to fully participate in church. To stop treating it as though it's a home and I'm a newly-rescued, formerly abused greyhound who hides behind the couch, only coming out when completely starving to steal the occasional roast off the counter.<br /><br />This is definitely going to be a rough summer because I don't have skeletons in my closet. I have zombies in there, and it's all I can do to keep the door padlocked. I'm going to have to let them out, one by one, and shoot them.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-61689733293905036452012-02-23T16:39:00.002-08:002012-02-23T17:20:31.517-08:00/FacepalmI read several blogs about marriage and male/female relations. I also dip into the Focus on the Family forums when I'm completely desperate for entertainment or nursing a terrible mood that I need to improve by comparing myself to those poor unfortunates. (I really do actually have a lively interest in psychology and counseling. I'm not just enjoying a particularly nasty and impersonal schadenfreude.)<br /><br />Reading today's tales of woe brought home to me how secular my thinking is becoming. The particular threads I read were all started by women. All chronicled staggering emotional/verbal abuse, incredible financial irresponsibility, and rampant, unrepentant adultery. The advice was all gentle and supportive, with many pious wishes for spiritual renewal in the offender. I got mad. That is the worst advice anybody could give to people who are suffering like that. I could tick down most of the however-many thousand threads in there and change those peoples' lives with two lines: "S/He is abusing you. Leave." (And if I really wanted to do the cruel-to-be-kind thing, I could add "You can leave now, or you can leave later with an STI and an extra child you can't afford.")<br /><br />I believe this is one area where the Church is failing her people. Yes, Christians should follow the procedure for rebuking a wayward brother. Yes, Christian spouses should be patient and longsuffering. I don't dispute any of that. I believe the Bible gives the correct procedure for dealing with habitual and unrepentant sin. However, I don't believe that enough people are told that when their spouse is that sunk in sin, stupidity, and selfishness (SSS), they are too far gone to be reasoned with. When your spouse is that far gone, they no longer see you as someone toward whom they have any obligation. They don't see you as human, in fact. You are merely an inanimate object that exists only for their convenience. So when you protest, demand pastoral mediation, and Christian counseling, they are as astonished as if their toilet started complaining about its ill-usage while they were sitting on it.<br /><br />With that in mind, it's clear to see how the normal Christian platitudes about redoubling prayer and submission reinforce the problem. Staying in the home, suffering in silence, trying to love someone out of their sin gives the offender absolutely no reason to change. After all, <span style="font-style:italic;">you're contributing to the problem because you seem to be putting up with it.</span> Your very presence is used against you as tacit acceptance. <br /><br />So to anyone who's suffering like the people in those forums, please take care of yourself and your children first. Leave the abuser to stew in his/her juices. Pray fervently and let the Lord deal with him/her. Maybe your marriage can be restored after a time. But you should consider whether your abusive spouse needs to see the power of the Lord when his/her passive "toilet" suddenly grows legs and walks out.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-5541268696927142972011-12-28T18:39:00.001-08:002011-12-29T08:26:24.538-08:00Answering AnnieOne of my college roommates started a blog early this year. To my shame, I didn't see this post until just now. I know the topic has been done to death, but I thought she deserved an answer. Here's the original post, and my response follows. Beating a dead horse is still good exercise, right?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Annie says:</span> <br /><br />There are many topics that I wonder why Christians don't talk about such as homosexuality, mental illness and so on. But the topic that has been on my mind and heart lately has been food. Issues with food is a subject that many of us here in America deal with. But my issue right now I want to talk about is women's relationship with food. I know it sounds funny to say that but think about it we tend to be emotional eaters. We eat when we are happy, we eat when we are sad, when we are bored, to celebrate, when we are upset and so on. Because of my sister and because of some of my own medical issues( there are certain foods I cannot have.) Which sounds like it could be horrible but I have learned to appreciate my food more. I now savor cookies. <br /><br />I don't say that to say "Look at me - I have it all together," because I still struggle with it. My big question is why do we let food control us? And why can't we talk about emotional eating as Christians? We can talk about things such as eating disorders and I am so thankful there are places like Remuda Ranch in AZ that is an Christian-based organization that helps especially women deal with their eating disorders. But in a church group of women called UFO (unfinished projects) that I go to the topic is always food. Two women there decided to have surgery to help them lose weight. I'm not commenting on my opinion of their decision to have the surgery. But all these women talk about it is food what they can have and what they can't have. And as they lose weight they expect people to constantly be commenting on how good they look. Why do we constantly want compliments about the way we look? Is it cause we as women are vain? Or eating and food is our way of control? Just because we say, "Oh you look soo good!" when you lose weight does that mean that other days, especially when you feel "fat," you don't look good? Why are our compliments so based on our appearances? Our self worth has nothing to do with how we look. So I challenge you all to think about whether food is controlling you or do you have control over food? And what would a healthy relationship with food look like in your own life? Let's start the discussion as Christians and live in the freedom that Christ has given us.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Anna responds:</span> <br /><br />Just off the top of my head, there's a few things going on here.<br /><br />1. Women are constantly judged on their appearances in a way that men are not. Feminism and the sexual revolution had unintended consequences in this area. Now modern women have to be sexy all the time, always performing all the time to prove we're equal to men both in the boardroom and the bedroom. Our grandmothers never worried about this, and they had plenty of suitors--and most modern Christian women don't. Toss in the rampancy of porn addiction among men creating further unrealistic standards, and women are really painted into a corner. This is a nasty problem our (within the general Western culture) liberal mothers and grandmothers created and then handed down to us. They can decry it all they like now, but they helped screw us over back in the day. Women can have it all-yeah, right! You want that in a size 6, too?<br /><br />2. Modern Western food is literally addictive. If you don't cook from scratch according to your personal dietary needs, you're probably poisoning yourself. I work full time. I do what I can to combat processed food, but I recognize after a certain point, I'm SOL (S---omething Outta Luck). The more the government gets involved in what we eat, the fatter we all get. I'm beginning to be convinced that corn subsidies are at the root of the American obesity problem. Practically everything you buy in a package is loaded with high fructose corn syrup (HFCS), soy fillers, or both. Tons of people are allergic to either, or both. (I have a mild fructose intolerance) The human body can respond to allergens by storing it in fat. A lotta potential histamines = a lotta potential thunder thighs, beer guts, and triple chins. In addition, soy is naturally loaded with estrogen. Too much affects male fertility! Eating it in the occasional edamame or tofu dish is one thing; eating hidden soy in practically everything is a yikes! <br /><br />Eat for your individual health. If you're self-aware, you know what foods make you feel bad, and what foods you need to pick yourself up again. See <a href="http://fatnutritionist.com/">Fat Nutritionist</a> for a healthy perspective. Michelle's fairly anti-weight loss, which I disagree with, but I like her focus on figuring out what you individually need to eat for your best health, and being unapologetic about getting it.<br /><br />3. Yes, food is often a means of control in a stressful, hard-charging world. Children compensate for lack of control and stress overload by becoming super picky. Adult men turn to sports, hobbies, work, and porn to get lost in. Women tend to overeat and overspend. Overeating isn't particularly a personal fault of mine; I'm a stress shopper instead. We all have coping mechanisms that are unhealthy. Overeating is a particularly emotionally fraught habit to break because eating is not something we can just stop doing.<br /><br />Addressing the vanity question: I see a lot of confusion in the world between the definitions of self worth and self esteem. Self worth is your humanity, your inalienable rights, your eternal soul before God. Self esteem is how you feel about the above. <br /><br />Women who have lost a ton of weight and need constant reassurance are really asking, "Am I worth something? Do you love me the same even though I'm more attractive now? Does my personhood matter to you, or is it just my outer shell?" It's a constant minute re-calibration of insecurity. I can't claim I'm above this one.<br /><br />For example, let's take the "Do these pants make me look fat?" question our menfolk always dread. We all know its a trap-there's no way they can answer truthfully and spare your feelings, and even if they give a "correct" answer, the female insecurity we all harbor will probably make us change clothes anyway. The problem is that the "fat pants" question is a red herring. The real question is, "Do you still love me even though I feel ugly today?" But we can't ask the real question, because we're always afraid that the answer might be no.<br /><br />Annie, you and I both know that ultimately, we find our worth and dignity in being made in the image of God. Goodness knows that's the focus of every. single. women's. study. But God made us to relate both to Him and to other human beings. We're also fallen creatures, and as such, we put unhealthy weight on the opinions of other fallen people. We know it's wrong, and stupid, and we just can't help it!<br /><br />I wish I had a magic pill, and if I did, I'd be living in ... well, probably some expensive, romantic, bohemian city. But until I make my fortune figuring out how to cure all female neuroses, the best answer I can give you is to acknowledge that yes, it's hard; yes, circumstances and people can suck - both singly and simultaneously! Yes, knowing God made you and loves you is cold comfort when your favorite flattering sweater has mysteriously shrunk, and you never put it in the dryer...When your best guy cheats on you, when your dog pees on your new rug (how do animals always know???), when your best friend doesn't have time to see you, and your parents unfairly criticize you....Okay, I'm all depressed now.<br /><br />It's going to sound crazy, but acknowledging how much the world can suck is a big help. We cry out against all the wrongness because it was never meant to be this way. But as long as mankind was given free will, sin was inevitable - I truly believe that. If Adam and Eve hadn't done it; their kids would have, or somebody down the line. That's the discouraging part. But it helps to remember that we still have free will. We can choose not to keep eating when we're actually full. We can choose to trot around the block after work instead of immediately sinking into the couch for the night. We can choose to fix ourselves up nicely even when we feel like it's no use. We're not helpless. We have the freedom of personal responsibility, and we have the Holy Spirit's guidance.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-62454995530305865012011-12-20T15:48:00.000-08:002013-08-14T12:18:17.128-07:00The Busty Woman's Fashion PrimerI've been hearing little bleats of insecurity from some of my more <span style="font-style:italic;">endowed</span> friends and coworkers about dressing their busty figures fashionably. There's a lot of body insecurity and plain old confusion about what to wear. I can certainly relate. I matured early and have spent a lot of time in pursuit of that female Grail: not looking fat. A large chest makes it harder, but there are still plenty of things out there. With apologies to What Not to Wear, here are my tips:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Get fitted for a supportive bra</span>. Unsupported breasts can visually become just another roll in your midsection-YIKES! You’ll need to get fitted about once a year. If there’s no change, congratulations, but small (and large, but we’re pretending those don’t happen) weight and hormone fluctuations can cause you to need different sizes over time. There are plenty of online guides for measuring yourself. Doing this before you go to the store is a good idea-the person measuring you may not really know what they’re doing. A good rule of thumb for getting your band size right is taking your rib measurement and rounding up or down to the nearest whole number. You’ll need about three plain bras for work and everyday life. Two should be beige/nude if you’re white or brown if you’re black. The third should probably be black. White bras show through even white t-shirts. Don’t recommend them at all. Your go-to bra should be the one closest to your skin color. The balconette cut is the most useful to the busty woman. I recommend saving the lower-cut demi for fancy occasions when cleavage is appropriate. Lace is pretty, but it always manages to lumpily show through tops. Again, save the lace and embroidery for times when your bra needs to show. *wink*<br /><br />Try not to be too chagrined about your cup size. Getting the right bra size, no matter how appalling the numbers on the tag, is the best thing you can do for yourself. There is nothing more distracting to the rest of the world than you walking around looking like you had a falling out with your bra. (Pun definitely intended.) The best way to hide is…don’t hide. Stand straight, and if you don’t make a big deal out of your mountainous outcroppings, nobody else will, either. In fact, most people won’t notice. Remind yourself that people pay for what you may consider a nuisance. When my mom went gray, she was thinking about coloring her hair until her friends started asking where she got her hair done because the frosting was so pretty. Big boobs are another thing people pay for. Yours came free.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Make friends with the closely fitted, solid (or subtly patterned) t-shirt or sweater.</span> It should be as snug as you can get away with based on your age and level of physical fitness. Obviously, you don’t want to look ridiculous, but you also don’t want to obscure your shape in any way. Adding fabric bulk is suicidal to your waistline if you have a large chest.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Re: patterns, you can scale up with physical size.</span> If you’re a large woman, wear a big print. If you’re petite, look for something more delicate. Beware of florals. If they aren’t abstract enough, it’s practically a guarantee that you’ll have a gigantic cabbage rose blooming on your boobs.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Your shirt neckline should at least show your collarbones.</span> Do not wear anything higher than that. Avoid the classic turtleneck at all costs–if you’re cold, wear a scarf. You want to make it clear that you’re accessorizing, not being swallowed body-first by a snake. A loose and floppy cowl neck is fine. Collared shirts are fine. V-necks and scoop necks are ideal. A wide boat neck or ballet neck can be okay; it depends on the overall cut of the shirt. Split necks also fall into this category. For formal occasions, off-the shoulder can be lovely. Strapless is also fine, as long as it fits well.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Knits-go as fine gauge as you can.</span> Ribbing and cable knits can be dicey because a large bust can distort the lines of the knit into something that would make an epileptic seize. Chunky knits have to be approached with caution, but can work with care. If you wear a bulkier top, compensate elsewhere with skinnier pants or a slim pencil skirt.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Skirts- Your skirt should hit at the skinniest parts of your leg.</span> For most people, this is immediately above or below the kneecap. The longer the skirt, the higher the heel you need to compensate, unless you’re just having an <span style="font-style:italic;">“I need comfy shoes and don’t bother me about it today,”</span> day, or your podiatrist has banned heels. If you’re insecure about your legs, wear opaque tights or solid leggings tucked into boots. White tights are for old ladies, toddlers and nurses. Dark, solid colors or subtle patterns are great. If the weather is warming up, but it’s not quite bare leg weather, turn to nude hose (but not with boots.). If you are quite petite, stick to skirts above the knee almost exclusively.<br /><br />The two best skirts for the busty lady are the A-line and the Pencil. Bonus points if the pencil skirt has a built-in high waistband. Both types of skirts are fitted in the waist and hip. A pencil skirt goes straight down from the hip and looks straight or narrow at the hemline. An A-line skirt has a slight flare at the hemline.<br /><br />Also worthy of mention is the gored/fishtail/mermaid/trumpet skirt. This skirt is again fitted in the waist and hip, but has many more seams. It nips in, then flairs out dramatically to give an exaggerated feminine shape. The fishtail skirt is a variation on this, but has a longer hem in back than in front.<br /><br />Very full skirts and dirndls can be worn, but carefully. They are more useful for the busty woman who is also blessed in rumpage. I personally do not prefer them because adding bulk, even to my lower half, makes me look fatter all over. Your mileage may vary. If you do wear a very full skirt, make sure your top is just shy of painted on. A waist-defining belt may also be a good idea.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight:bold;">At all costs, define your waist.</span> You have one. But probably only you, God, and your husband if married know about it right now. Getting your boobs up where they belong will help. A belt will help more. Cincher belts and skinny belts are very trendy right now, and are appropriate for any age, shape, or fitness level. If you don’t feel like accessorizing, a severely tailored blouse or fitted top is enough. Try belts, though. They can help you get away with an unstructured top or cardigan that you just love, but may not be that flattering on its own.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Jewelry-Shine by your face can help draw attention upward, away from your chest. </span>Earrings are great. Necklaces are good too, if you pay attention to their length. A good rule is that your necklace should lie within the neckline of your top, no longer. Sadly, we gifted gals can’t really pull off the super long chains that are trendy right now. You don’t want people to think of a waterfall when they see a long necklace drape smoothly down your chest, and then abruptly assume a 90 degree freefall.<br /><br />I didn’t mention colors, because busty women come in all complexions. The final piece of looking your best is figuring out the best colors for your skin tone and sticking to them. Next time you shop, remember these three rules: Good Bra, Good Fit, and Good Colors. Eventually, you will assemble a wardrobe where most things match, and dressing yourself will become effortless.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-9408092250513253262011-04-24T15:46:00.000-07:002011-04-25T04:25:35.826-07:00Cheap Riches<span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://http://www.amazon.com/Savvy-Chic-Art-More-Less/dp/0061715069/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1303685462&sr=1-1">Savvy Chic</a></span> by Anna Johnson came in the mail a few days ago after I devoured the whole thing on one of our Barnes & Nobles dates. It was definitely worth picking up, and I'd recommend it to anyone; just don't pay full price. Anna Johnson is a flamboyant, romantic spendthrift who has (mostly) mended her ways and put forth a manifesto on how to enjoy luxury without paying much, or anything for it. It was definitely a book I needed to read, since, as my mother has famously said, I have caviar taste on a hamburger budget. One could theorize that it was an inevitable backlash against years of missionary (and Dutch) thrift, but I prefer to think of my expensive yearnings as a love of beauty frequently butting up against the fact that quality and originality are rarely cheap.<br /><br />With my job in jeopardy and our house undergoing an expensive, though involuntary remodel, I've never needed to reign in my spending more. Yet, I've never been more tempted. Some people are stress eaters. I'm a stress shopper. In the last six weeks, I've bought <span style="font-style:italic;">Savvy Chic</span>, a new frying pan to match my set, Stila powder foundation, an Anthropologie sweater (a steal from eBay) and a camisole to match it, two clearance cocktail dresses and a blouse from<a href="http://http://www.bravissimo.com/pepperberry/">Pepperberry</a>, a pair of <a href="http://http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00402C188">Crocs ballet flats</a> (Too small, returned 'em), and I tried to buy some shoes at Naturalizer (had a coupon, nothing fit). I also bought six yards of <a href="http://http://www.amazonhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif.com/Wide-Waverly-Fishbowl-Seaweed-Fabric/dp/B0046VFP54/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=arts-crafts&qid=1303687355&sr=1-1">Waverly outdoor fabric</a> (30% off!)for curtain panels in my kitchen and seven tension rods on which to hang them. And that's not even counting a $385 binge at Ikea Atlanta two weeks ago that yielded a <a href="http://http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/00180548">china cabinet</a>, <a href="http://http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/70080215">duvet cover</a>, down pillows, towels, a <a href="http://http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/00135339">candle</a> and a flower pot. I'm exhausted and ashamed just looking at that inventory.<br /><br />Granted, circumstances have been extenuating with the house torn up, but only five or six of the things I bought relate directly to the house. The blouse that hasn't arrived yet from England and Anthropologie sweater are meant to be worn to a job I may not have in a few weeks. Two cocktail dresses? Well, I need one that must do double duty for an August formal wedding and my company's December party...if I'm still employed. Both were on clearance and I couldn't decide. Will liked one better; my mom liked the other. I've stiffened my spine, though. When I try them on, the one that is less flattering is getting returned, along with a linen dress from Pepperberry that was too big, and I haven't returned yet because the kitchen flood happened. I wasn't out of powder foundation; it was just a great deal on an expensive item. I tell myself that I use Stila because it's the only brand I've found that exactly matches my skintone, and it would be a waste to try and discard drugstore brands when I've found something that works perfectly. That is true, but I wore drugstore brands in high school and college. Though the color matches weren't ideal, I didn't look ghoulish. No, I looked bad in high school and college for a whole host of reasons that had nothing to do with cheap makeup.<br /><br />Now that I feel thoroughly broke, I need to think about things that make me feel rich.<br /><br />1. Buying organic veggies at the farmer's market. Cost: $10/week if I don't buy a watermelon.<br />2. Richly scented soaps that come in pretty packaging. Cost: Doesn't matter to me. $3.99 at Marshall's is average, though I like to buy soaps from places we go, like Colonial WIlliamsburg. No lavender or anything powdery or sugary-sweet, please, if you're planning to give me a gift. I like crisp, clean scents, especially citrus, mint and bayberry.<br />3. Playing Messiah at a volume just short of "bleeds ears" and singing along. Cost: free. It reminds me of many road trips to and from college, and that magical night when I took Will (not yet my boyfriend) to a spring Messiah concert at Lookout Presbyterian. I still get shivery thinking about sitting in the back of that glorious cathedral and being borne away by the polyphony.<br />4. Good coffee. Good coffee is harder for me to find now that I'm allergic to caffeine. (It makes me itch horribly) A nice, rich decaf is a treasure. Cost: $5 for a medium Snickers latte at Wholly Cow, or $10-15 a pound. Ground coffee lasts a long time at my house because I only drink it on the weekends. I'd be perfectly happy to buy Folgers Gourmet Selects decaf, if only I could find it! I keep checking the grocery stores I frequent, but nobody stocks the decaf! Dunkin' decaf isn't bad, but it isn't special, either.<br />5. Dried mangoes from Saigon Oriental Market. Cost: $1.98/bag. They're imported from the Philipines. That satisfies my love for exotica. The fact that they're the most blissfully delicious thing ever doesn't hurt either. Sure, I eat the whole (small) bag in one sitting, but that's what makes it a treat, and it's a cheap treat at that.<br />6. A spotless bedroom. Cost: time and laundry. I've decorated our bedroom so that it looks like an expensive hotel room. I spent less than $300 on it, but it radiates luxury. It's extremely soothing to open the door and see a crisply made bed, scented candles and a gently running ceiling fan. As a matter of fact, that's making me sleepy, so if you'll *yawn* excuse me....Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-74123014533825428012011-04-22T19:42:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:37:50.823-07:00Narrowing to a PointThe past six weeks have been absolutely harrowing. First, our kitchen flooded. A dishwasher hose split and we came home to water an inch deep in some places. The day after that, I found out I might be getting laid off. Neither of those situations are resolved yet. I'm keeping a vigilant watch for gray hairs, because I'm sure all the stress has created some.<br /><br />I will say that the kitchen is coming along nicely, though a big rainstorm put us behind schedule. It won't be finished for Easter, like we had originally hoped, but it should be done early next week. I've barely cooked in six weeks. I've mostly been living on peanut butter and jelly, sometimes eating it twice a day. Haven't lost any weight from it. There's no justice in this fallen world, I'm afraid.<br /><br />So far, the kitchen has been painted (Valspar Belle Grove Moss) and the new <a href="http://http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/70139503">cabinets</a> are in. Mike the contractor finished the counters today. He said that it looked like an interior decorator had designed the kitchen. I was super pleased by the compliment, because I wanted to be an architect or an interior designer in high school, and spent a lot of time studying for the life path I didn't take. Most people might have chosen a cream or tan counter to go with the birch cabinets. That would have been the obvious course to take, but I think it would have ended up looking like the Gobi desert. I chose a mottled gray with blue and rust undertones. I was sweating bullets before it was installed, because I had only a tiny square of laminate sample and no cabinet to match it to when I chose the colors. It worked out, thank goodness. The vinyl flooring will be a sandy gray in a fake tile style. Unfortunately, real tile wasn't in the budget-not because of the materials-but because one guy can install linoleum, but it takes a team to do tile in a kitchen as big as mine.<br /><br />The contractors took the paper shades down in the kitchen, and suddenly I'm confronted with another problem to solve. The paper shades were never meant to be permanent, and now that they're down, they're not going back up. I have 7 huge windows across the back of the house. Obviously, I don't want the thugs in the house behind us to be able to see in. Traditional blinds would be too expensive, and besides, I want something interesting. I was looking into getting a patterned bamboo or roman shade when I looked at World Market and saw exactly what I was looking for. All kinds of cute roman shades, on clearance. I mentioned it to my coworker and friend, Pretty Smile, and she found me a wonderful World Market coupon that I could print out multiple times. I rushed out and found that the one I wanted was too big for my windows, my second choice was sold out...and there was no third choice. Feeling discouraged and defeated, I got myself a Snickers latte from Wholly Cow, and barely enjoyed it I was so upset. Did I mention it poured all day? It's hard to keep upbeat when it's pouring, and one's cowardly dog shredded the bathroom door in which he was confined. Could not believe the mess. He owes us $60. Thinking of garnishing his kibble until he pays us back. Awful, awful dog!<br /><br />We went home and took a nap, and upon rising I looked at the window problem with fresh eyes. Back we went to World Market to buy a different style of shade, which was also on sale. The Summerville store didn't have enough, so we drove back to West Ashley to pick up the three we lacked. In the time it took to have a nap, lose an eBay auction of an exquisite Anthropologie dress I really wanted, and return to the store, the style I wanted had sold out. I realize it's hard to find seven matching anything, anywhere, much less when it's on clearance, but I really thought events were in my favor. I can't spend much on this, because all our money is tied up in the involuntary kitchen remodel. They were cute. They were the right price. I had a coupon. I was so sure it was in the bag. GRRRR! So now I have to return four jute shades and figure out what I'm going to do instead. I could sew curtains, but at my current state of busy-ness, that's about as appealing as getting a cavity filled. I wish I could just buy shades, but I really can't pay more than $15 each. I do have the beginnings of an idea, though. My windows are 31 inches wide. There's no reason why I couldn't buy a <a href="http://http://www.worldmarket.com/product/index.jsp?productId=10918780&clickid=body_rv_img">runner like this</a>, cut it in half, sew it together, and make a pocket at the top for a tension rod. So back to World Market I go tomorrow, to return the shades and see what my schemey little brain can come up with.<br /><br />It's taking all my ingenuity to keep on top of everything that's going on. I have a distinct sensation that my world is narrowing to a point, and I'm being driven toward the narrow end, like icing in a cake decorator's bag. Hopefully, like the icing, something beautiful and useful will come of all of this. In the meantime, it's awfully frightening and uncomfortable.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-42714927520068251172011-02-25T16:19:00.000-08:002011-02-26T16:42:27.018-08:00Greedy SchemingI’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately instead of writing my own. Mostly design and fashion blogs, like <a href="http://www.academichic.com/">academichic</a> and <a href="http://www.designspongeonline.com/">designsponge</a>. Throw in a little House Beautiful and some Etsy browsing. The result is a manic desire to remake my home with quirky things I can’t afford, and to cut up half my wardrobe and re-sew it. All at the same time. Needless to say, my mind hasn’t been on my work too much lately.<br /><br />Going to the Celadon Outlet at the old Navy Yard with my friend, Pretty Smile, did NOT help my greed and scheming. The outlet is for scratch and dent furniture and overstocks, and I saw at least a dozen things I would love to decorate a hypothetical hipster bungalow with an outdoor kitchen and mossy bricks. I do not own a hipster bungalow with an outdoor kitchen. Any mossy bricks I possess are by sheer<br />accident, and I live in fear that someone, probably me, will slip on them the next time it sleets, which is a pretty rare occasion in Charleston, SC. Yes, I know, I’m talented that way. Thank you, Mother, for passing down your inimitable physical grace. *Ahem.* Moving on…<br /><br />My house is a 1965…ranch? It was a long, narrow brick house, until somebody added a mother in law suite onto the right side of it. In the 2000s, it was updated by a flipper, who had the wisdom to leave the original six inch baseboards and crown moldings, but who did a lousy job installing his own carpet and linoleum. He also did not replace the original, cracked windows or improve the insulation. This condition led to the purchase of some very expensive flannel sheets from Dillard’s that are cloud-soft, blissfully warm, and also pill like no other. *grumblesnort!*<br /><br />When we moved in, we had only bought a few things as we needed them. Most of the rest of our furniture was hand-me-down from Will’s aunt or parents. From Will’s aunt, we received a heavy cherry veneer bedroom set. The worn out bed slats eventually dumped us on the floor at 3 am, and I didn’t like the cockatoo-chewed, neo-Victorian headboard well enough to keep it, so we dragged it to the curb<br />before we left Miami. However, we kept the nightstand, and pair of approximately 300-lb dressers. I’m exaggerating the weight, but wow, they’re heavy. Solid wood is usually worth hanging onto even if it’s not my style, says I.<br /><br />We replaced the matching bed with a modern sleigh bed from Overstock.com. It wasn’t long before that dumped us on the floor as well. All it took was my 200-ish pound husband sitting down hard on his side of the bed, and that was the end of that slat. Finally gave up and bought a metal bed frame to attach the headboard to. Unfortunately, the footboard took a beating when the slat cracked, so I’m going to try to glue it back together with some heavy duty wood glue. If that doesn’t work, well, the bed looks just fine with no footboard, and we both like to hang our toes over the end. Tall peoples’ prerogative. Alas, rubberwood is a huge rip-off.<br /><br />Nature apparently abhors a vacuum-why is that, anyway? Is Nature really a giant cosmic shelter mutt? I ventured that question to a dog fancier at work, and he pointed out that God spelled backward IS doG. I’m not prepared to go that far, theologically. John Calvin and my minister father might both have issues with that, and I don’t want to end up like my college roommate who was a Bible major. She had recurring nightmares of John Calvin and the Greek verb luw chasing her. Hi, Annie! How ya sleeping lately?<br /><br />Anyway, MY nature abhors an empty corner I could be decorating. Once we fix the broken footboard, that will free up the floor space of the corner to the right of the nightstand on my side of the bed. Got that? The wall to the right of the nightstand is occupied by a Chinese ink painting scroll that was a wedding gift. I had been toying with the idea of getting a cushy chair, footstool, and tiny bookcase to put in that corner. Because I totally don’t read on the couch all the time. My books are starting to take over, and I want to move the more embarrassing titles off the top of the piano. No, I don’t read romance novels. Haven’t read one since college, when it was beyond hilarious in my clique of virginal, horny girls, to give romance novels as birthday presents and read the steamy parts aloud in a deadpan voice. I just have a suspicion that having more than a certain number of Mercedes Lackey novels will make people think I’m frivolous. The reality is that nobody notices, and I’m secretly afraid that being female inherently makes me frivolous, but that’s between me, God, and my imaginary counselor.<br /><br />So I need to get the fairy tales off the piano and move to the forefront titles like “Druids,” The English Country Gentleman and the Age of Chivalry”, “Selected Works of Chretien des Troyes,” and “The Complete Annotated Works of Shakespeare,” All of which I have read, thank you very much. And I think Titus Andronicus is a sad example of what artists will do for money. Much Ado about Nothing is still my<br />favorite, so maybe I am lowbrow. I never got into Sudoku, either. I will now embrace my plebeian status. Will it hug me back?<br /><br />The problems with that fantasy of a bedroom reading nook are that 1. It’ll clutter the room with too much furniture. 2. I’ll never use it. 3. It’ll just end up covered in clothes that aren’t quite dirty and need one more wearing before washing, thereby increasing clutter even more, and 4. If I can ever manage to get knocked up, I’ll need that corner for a crib while Beers Jr. is a newborn. *Encouraging news on the<br />fertility front: the doctor said that since I’d been on the pill so long after marriage, I am really only one year out from detoxing, not two. Doesn’t change the amount of time that’s passed, but it makes me feel better. Hopefully my thyroid problems will fall in line soon.*<br /><br />After all that digression, I know what the real problem is. I either have too many books or too few bookcases. And I don’t like one of the bookcases. We got it free, and it’s just a plain, wood-grained particle board DIY-er. It’s not particularly sturdy and it’s certainly not attractive. I have shoved it up in the corner behind the French doors in my living room where I don’t have to look at it.<br /><br />Here’s where the temptation comes in. I saw two stunning bookcases at Celadon. They’re distressed cream, made out of some plasticky stuff, but they look like antique wrought iron garden gates. My pragmatic hindbrain is reminding me that not only are they not sturdy, which I profess to require, they are also something like $400. Each. That’s the sale price. Whiiiiiiine. It’s like the Anthropologie catalog. I don’t even like half their stuff, and it’s all stratospherically expensive, and who can afford that anyway, but I STILL WANT TO BE THAT GIRL! I want to be that girl who has fragile, expensive bookcases that look like antique garden gates. With exotic knick-knacks and rare plants, and only about a dozen actual books on them. Sadly, the last time I saw great design intersect practical living was in the Not So Big House books by architect Sarah Susanka. I can’t afford those bookcases, and I sure can’t afford to hire an architect. I’m also pretty sure THAT GIRL is a hypochondriac control freak who hasn’t spoken to her mother in six months. She also has a friend with benefits named Stefan. I don’t like her.<br /><br />What is a lot more manageable is getting a large bookcase from Good Wood or craigslist and painting it to my specs, maybe painting the back and shelves a fun color. Maybe wallpapering them. I could do that. It wouldn’t break the bank. And it would fit in better with my non-hipster, non-bungalow décor. It is also true that upgrading bookcases is hardly an emergency on the priority list. In fact, replacing and adding kitchen lighting would be a much better return on investment, since my huge kitchen is sun-drenched during the day, and grim and dim at night.<br /><br />I can also go though my books. Yes, I’m feeling faint at the idea, but I’m hanging in there. I’m wondering if, at almost five years out of college, I need to keep every single book I referenced in my undergrad thesis? Some of them are unbelievably boring, and hardcovers take up a lot of space. Probably time to revisit those. But will I still be respected for my mental acuity if I get rid of half my research books on druids and medieval poetry and keep the Mercedes Lackey? Eek!<br /><br />Another thing I can do to satisfy my design craving is go back to the Celadon outlet and NOT buy the bookcases. When I went, I saw a pale chair with a hybrid Gothic/Moorish arch on the back. It was under $100. The exact price escapes me, but I think it was $75, which isn’t at all bad for a dining chair. If they have two of those, I can buy them to expand our dining room seating from four to six. We frequently host hours-long card games, so having more chairs would be a boon. We usually just drag in the piano bench, and I get nervous every time some hulking guy plumps down on it. Furthermore, if my mother in law lets me have her white Danish-style chairs when I get their big black table after they move, the two Gothic chairs would make excellent captain’s chairs at the head and foot of the table. If she doesn’t, the two Gothic chairs would still make excellent captain’s chairs; I’ll just be pitching a raving, lunatic fit while I shop for four more chairs. I should probably sell advance tickets. That tantrum promises to be entertaining.<br /><br />Naturally, I’ll go back to Celadon, cash in hand, and there won’t be two of the Gothic chair, and I’ll talk myself out of just buying one, or there will be two, but I won’t have any peace about buying them. “Peace” is always how my mom described having a mental or emotional check on doing something that’s probably a bad idea, or the timing is wrong. She ascribes that feeling to the Holy Spirit. I’ve felt that many times when I was all revved up to buy or do something and I just couldn’t and<br />couldn’t explain why. Sometimes it was an upset stomach providing the jerk on the reins. Sometimes it was certainly the Holy Spirit. Sometimes the sour stomach and the Holy Spirit feel pretty much the same. But I didn’t do or buy what it was I wanted to do or buy, and not doing it has always proven to be a good decision.<br /><br />**Update** I did go back to Celadon, cash in hand. And there was only one of the Gothic chairs and I didn't buy it. Instead, I went to Next to New in Mt. Pleasant and bought a scrolly mahogany table that had been painted celery green. It wasn't a bargain. In fact, it was [Price Redacted], but I loved it, and I'm using it as a nightstand.<br /><br />I won’t die if I don’t do any of the above. In fact, just writing it all down and puzzling it out takes a lot of the urgent sting out of it. I’m also pretty easily distracted by pretty things. In a day or two, I’ll have another “great” idea that will feel like I can’t breathe if I don’t do it RIGHT NOW. I’ll live through that<br />too. What’s more important than how trendy and tasteful our home is, is how our guests feel in it.<br /><br />Nobody’s ever complained of feeling unwelcome, so I can quit obsessing any time now. Maybe I’ll quit obsessing tomorrow. After my next big idea.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-2061863154499889242011-02-17T15:18:00.000-08:002011-02-17T15:23:55.398-08:00Shabby AppleMy <a href="http://www.shabbyapple.com/">Shabby Apple Cider Dress</a> arrived today. Thoughts: The color is beautiful and the lines are flattering. I really like the sassy purple zipper. The Cider Dress is marked as "Fits Generously" and it definitely does. My measurements are 45/35/43. I ordered an XL, which fit in the bust and shoulders, but is quite wide in the waist and hips, so I'll be taking it in on the sides. I'd venture to guess it had about an extra four inches in the hips. That's good news for certain friends of mine with *ahem* assets. I am 5'9.5 and the hem came to the bottom of my knee cap. The scooped neckline is a little higher than I expected, but that's hardly a problem since my collarbone still shows. Material is a stretch cotton. Now you know, girls.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-34663762775805832912010-10-22T15:04:00.000-07:002010-10-22T15:07:06.488-07:00Hair Horns Ensued....I stopped liking my hair the day I set foot in seventh grade in a new school, new state, new continent. Rows of identically layered, poker-straight, blonde ponytails swiveled to give me a cold onceover. I failed the test. At 12 years old, I was nearly finished growing, but I still had my messy, childish, wavy hair that I brushed once in the morning and forgot about unless forcibly reminded. No bangs. No layers. No natural (or ruthlessly Sun-Inned) blonde coloring. At thirteen, I cut myself wispy bangs in the hurried five minutes in the bathroom after PE class. I didn’t own a round brush or a straightening iron; didn’t even know what either of them was for. Hair horns ensued. Mom was no help whatsoever since her own poker-straight hair looked much the same whether air-dried or styled. The only clue was the presence or absence of mousse-crunchy strands. She didn’t understand my horror of my hair. “People pay a lot of money for waves like yours,” she consistently pointed out. I didn’t care if it was true. I wanted that perfectly-layered, high ponytail, tied with a black satin ribbon a scant few atoms wide, just like the other girls. (Of course, I wanted to be thin and athletic like them too, and see how that turned out!)<br /><br />At 14 I cut my hair above my shoulders. This was my first major cut, and I chose the layered bob everyone else had. I’d never had anything beyond a half inch trim before, and my hair was just halfway down my chest. Even though the cut transformed my head into a Mardi Gras of curls, I liked the cut. I wouldn’t have hair below my shoulders again until I was 25.<br /><br />College led to the epiphanies of the round brush and straightening iron. Had some vaguely mullet-like cuts in there, but they weren’t that unflattering once I tamed the frizzies. I got married at age 20 with my hair just below my jawline, which was unbelievably chic with my grandmother’s Juliet Cap veil, circa 1932.<br /><br />Now at 26, my hair is experiencing the recession. I haven’t cut it since a half-hearted reshaping in January that I paid too much for. I have a long side bang I cut myself. The rest of my head has reverted to the messy, childish waves I used to hate. The tips of my grown-out inverted bob are just stretching below my collarbone. My husband loves my longer hair, which I find bemusing since it was much more flattering and stylish shorter. Must be a primal male thing. I’ll take the attention, though. After all, as a married woman, whom do I need to impress with my beauty? None but him. Today, I realized that my scanty braids were just long enough to climb up the sides of my head for an almost-there German milkmaid look. I pinned my hair up and stood in front of Will. When he glanced up from his iPhone zombie smashing, his eyes glowed. I never got a look like that with a sassier cut. So we’ll see how long I can go until the next cut. Part of me is curious to see my genetically pre-programmed maximum length. Another part of me misses the frothy curls. But I keep reminding myself that “people pay a lot of money for waves like mine. “ Thanks, Mom. You got through to me and it only took a decade!Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-1750415566197923692010-02-15T13:10:00.000-08:002010-02-15T13:11:30.702-08:00Snow (Hey Oh)Snow was in the forecast for Friday, Feb 12. I admitted skepticism, considering that the coast of South Carolina is one of the least likely places on earth for snow. Considering that last year it snowed in Daytona while we had warmish weather. When I left work around 4:30 on Friday, the wind was picking up, but the temperature was a solid ten degrees too warm. Probably not going to happen, I told myself. Best not to get any hopes up. However, by the time I picked Will up from work, it was <span style="font-style:italic;">quite</span> cold. And then it started to rain on the way home. After an hour of rain, we had <span style="font-style:italic;">Snow<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>. I was in the kitchen rolling spring rolls for our Chinese New Year dinner when the neighbor boy pounded on the door. We opened the door and crept out on the porch, awed by the snowfall’s beauty. There was already at least an inch on the car, and the footprints on our front steps were swiftly filling in.<br /><br />It took a moment to believe what we were seeing, but only a moment. Seconds later, we were gloved, booted, and be-hatted (me), dashing out into the wintry night. It was incredibly satisfying to pelt the 15 year old boy next door with snow balls (I firmly believe teenagers should have things thrown at them as often as possible.).<br /><br />After getting socked in the thigh by an ice ball Will ducked, I was done with the snow ball fight. So I disengaged and moved to the demilitarized zone, i.e. the end of the driveway. I spun around, feeling the snow brush against my face. And here’s where the night got all romance novel-y. I was caught in strong arms mid spin and shyly peeked up from under my hat brim at my William. He said slowly, “You are so adorable” and kissed me. And then we kissed again to make sure we liked it. Oh yeah. That’s an item off my bucket list.<br /><br />I scampered back inside not long after that, turned on the Olympic opening ceremony and fried the spring rolls. My first attempt at spring rolls turned out beautifully, by the way. I made about 16, and probably ate 9 or 10 of them. I’m not going to do that again, but spring rolls are such a treat, and they tasted so authentic and fried things go bad fast and, and…Yeah, I paid for it, but it was worth it. With the spring rolls, I served “froggy food,” a stir-fried soy bean (edamame) and pork mixture over rice. Just a little feast for Chinese New Year. Xin nian kuai le and gong xi fa cai!<br /><br />I went to bed that evening starry-eyed with a belly full of grease. Life was good. The snow stopped falling around 1 am. 4 inches total. Magical.<br /><br />Saturday morning, I woke up just long enough to push Will out of bed so he could go to Taekwondo. About an hour later I woke up to find a very sheepish William offering me a bowl of cheerios, a strawberry yogurt, and a mug of tea. Breakfast in bed! It turned out that the gym was closed due to the snowfall, and the roads were still slick. I loitered in bed a little longer, but couldn’t stand the inactivity and got to work. I had already taped off the master bath; now it was time to paint. While I brushed the dusty plum color on the walls, I had a very cute view. Will had obviously taken a cue from Friday the guinea pig and was snoozing with just the ends of his hair sticking out. I admit I took some pictures. Blackmail may be forthcoming. Painting the bathroom took about two hours, then I moved on to cleaning the living room, watching the Olympics, and burning things. I’m embarrassed to admit that the front left corner of the living room was still covered in fir branches I cut off the Christmas tree to use for tinder. Ouch. It was appropriately cold, so I kept a toasty fire going all afternoon, burning broken boards from TKD, fir branches and junk mail. My pyromania is satisfied…for now. I played a little WoW and made Will help me hang a shelf in the dining room. By mid-evening the paint dried enough to finally hang the huge round mirrors I bought in August(!) I also swapped out the old paint-spattered switch plates for brushed nickel and put up two black and white art photos my dad took –one of a fern draped over bamboo, and the other of a snail shell encased in concrete. Because snails are totally what someone thinks of when they think of a bathroom. There! Voila! Finished! I promptly collapsed into a hot bath to enjoy the spa-like ambiance (and new paint smell).<br /><br />After all that physical labor, it was hard to get moving Sunday. We were very late to church. Will’s nose twitched longingly as we walked past a favorite restaurant: Jestine’s Kitchen. After church, I noted that the line to get in was not that long, and we could at least see what the specials were. He nodded vehemently. The specials were pot roast (yum!) and catfish (yum for Will!), so we waited in line, flirting shamelessly with each other. It was windy and cold, but I sure didn’t feel it. During lunch, Will casually mentioned that his phone was very busted, and the Apple store was right around the corner. I laughed, knowing he’d been dying to get an iPhone but wanted to wait until his current phone was good and dead. The surprise was not that he got an iPhone, but that he wanted to get me one too. So now we have black and white, bride and groom iPhones. This is truly a luxury I didn’t know I couldn’t do without until I had one. I love it!!!<br /><br />After the spending orgy at the Apple Store, Will dropped me off at home for a nap. He went out again on his own and got me hot pink roses and a white case for my iPhone. And then he made lasagna from scratch for dinner! This after I said I didn’t want to do much for Valentine’s Day! What a man I’ve got! What a great, romantic, productive weekend we have.<br /><br />Sadly, the next home improvement project on my plate is painting the master bedroom. I have a lovely warm gray picked out, but I’m quailing at the scope of it. Five windows and five doors to tape around. Urg. I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon, but when I get to it, it’s gonna look great. Our duvet is eggplant velvet, and I’m going to mix that with crisp whites and apple green. That should be very sharp, but first, I could use some sleep, because all this happiness is very exhausting.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-54575952961324058832010-02-10T18:17:00.000-08:002010-02-10T19:21:52.160-08:00Defiance, Compliance...Poop?February 3rd, Will and I started obedience class for Toby and Frankie. This has been a long time coming, as we've had Toby since September 09 and have had plenty of time to observe and deplore his issues. Frankie came home with us December 30, 2009, and we're still figuring him out. He was a stray, so we're not sure what he knows. Furthermore, he was sick the entire first month we had him, and sickness tends to have a deleterious effect on bowel control. There were some unfortunate consequences for the kitchen floor. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Sigh</span> I've been watching him like a hawk, and I definitely don't trust him yet. I guess all this clean up has been good for me. Poop really icks me out. Maybe having dogs is supposed to desensitize me before we have kids. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Gross.</span><br /><br />The class was held at the Charleston Animal Society on Remount Rd, about five minutes away from our home. That's a good thing, too, because Frankie is afraid of riding in the car, and always raises a fuss. I drove, with Toby in the front seat, and Will and Frankie in the back. Will had both leashes and was coordinating the dogs like that old America's Funniest Home Videos clip where the couple has broken windshield wipers in a rainstorm. The woman ties twine to the blades, and through cracked windows, pulls the wipers back and forth manually. I never got why that clip won. It would have been funnier with two squirming, crying 50 lb mutts instead of windshield wipers.<br /><br />With a mishap or two, we (Okay, I was the one having trouble. I had a leash with an excited, pulling mutt on the end of it, my purse, and two medical folders in my hands) made it through the door. There were probably eight other puppies. I was worried that Toby and Frankie would be much too large, but there was a sheepdog-type thing, and a year-old labrador mix that were about the same size. I had to laugh when the lab, named Will, was parked next to human Will and Toby. Canine Will was black, with a huge white blaze on his chest and face. The resemblance was uncanny. After the class, Will and I joked that canine Will had his looks and my personality. Whenever I looked at the dog, he was lying down, slobbering cordially. My kind of guy. <br /><br />Two of the small puppies stood out to me as well: pretty little girls named Izzy and Reesie. Reesie was no doubt named for a peanut butter cup. If I were to guess, I'd say her ancestry was chocolate lab with maybe pit bull? She had a gorgeous, brindled orange-and-brown coat, and her tough-looking owner had decked her out in a pink and brown collar-the same paw-print pattern as Frankie's green and brown collar. I detected a softy. <br /><br />Izzy was a proud little German Shepherd with a light tan coat and a delicately shaded black snout. Whenever she got a little slack on the leash, she dove to the end of the tether nose first and plopped on her belly with a surprised look. I hope I get the chance to scoop her up during the class, because she's going to be too heavy to carry pretty soon, and I'm dying to give her a good ear rub and chin tickle.<br /><br />The class covered sit-stays, the "leave it!" command and how to let your dog meet another dog. Frankie sat like a champion, which amused me because at home, he's a slow, apathetic sitter. I guess he was showing off, or the super cheapy string cheese we used is his heart's greatest desire. Or something. At least he liked that. I don't blame him for being uninspired by the hot dogs we also cut up for treats. I wouldn't have touched those either. 88c a pack off-off-brand? Blech. At least my dog has good(ish) taste. We're going to have to practice "leave it" at home with a variety of tasty objects. Frankie has already eaten one of my shoes, and the dogs together shredded an old book with a cloth cover. Thank goodness it wasn't one I was attached to, but I was pretty mad that they made a point of taking it out of the basket on the bookcase. I guess the cloth cover had an interesting smell or flavor? Who knows? I turn to my default answer: Dogs are dumb.<br /><br />Though my session with Frankie went swimmingly, Will had a war on his hands with Toby. Every time I looked across the room at them, Toby was straining at the end of his leash. He would not listen, he would not sit, he could have cared less about the treats, and every time Will forced eye contact, the expression in Toby's eyes was a hard, bright "[screw] you." I swear that beast slid out of his mongrel mama smoking a cigar. His entire attitude since we've had him has been "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" He's very strong-willed and high energy. The only thing we've found to calm him down has been schlepping two cans of tomatoes in his saddlebags. I guess that fulfills some psychological need deep in his little canine hindbrain. Too bad we can't take him to class loaded up and strapped in. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Sigh. Dogs.</span><br /><br />The class ended with a five minute play period off-leash. The puppies slithered across the tile floor quite endearingly. Toby went off by himself after a few cursory sniffs. What's wrong with him? Did he get a cat soul? Frankie went over and made friends with canine Will. I'm sure when they separate the dogs into play groups, Frankie and Will are going to be placed together. And why not? They're big enough to handle each other. A little more running around, and then the excitement got to Frankie and he dropped 4 huge nuggets on the floor. I was so embarrassed. Those tiny puppies made it through an hour, and my nearly 2 year old dog is the one to lose it. The trainers advised us to just not feed them at all next Wednesday so they're hungry for treats and we won't have a reprise. Poop. Why'd it have to be poop?Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-86704950683191794982010-01-17T14:21:00.001-08:002010-01-17T14:23:10.243-08:00HaitiGod rest the souls of those who perished in the earthquake. And may he give peace, comfort, and strength to those who survived and are suffering. May help come quickly.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-15984365536657478792009-12-11T21:14:00.001-08:002009-12-11T21:14:47.191-08:002 Talents, or 5?The other day, Boundless blog asked what our talents were and are we wasting them? Ouch. Yes. I'm a writer, a pianist and singer-though I don't compose, an expert seamstress, and fledgling illustrator. Do I really do those things? Not really. I don't belong to the church choir because they have a glut of women, and this is probably my ego talking, but nobody in the choir reads music and I think I would be frustrated pretty quickly. There’s no way this isn’t going to sound proud, but I am certainly more advanced technically, and I know from experience I would have a hard time being patient when I've had so many years of musical training and it comes so easily to me. I've also seen many times when an average church choir gets one person who's had training and has a fantastic voice (not talking about myself here in respect to the voice. My voice is pleasant, but it's not remarkable). That person tends to have all the music built around them, whether it was their intention or not. They end up singing everything and will either get burned out or develop an inflated view of their talent, and it crowds out the dedicated, so-so people who are trying to serve.<br /><br />I do miss singing very badly. I loved getting into a really technically difficult piece and mastering it. Our college Chorale director was always very exacting and pulled feats of beauty out of us we didn’t know we were capable of. If the dust ever settles (ha), I’d love to audition for the annual Messiah performance at the Citadel. I would probably have an advantage since I already know it well; the only difficulty is my voice. It’s smoky, and ill-suited to the baroque choral music I love so much. I have a strong suspicion that the college director only kept me around because he liked me and knew I’d turn in a solid performance with perfect rehearsal attendance-and those are good reasons-but probably not good enough for a professional orchestra director.<br /><br />As far as writing goes, I wrote prolifically in high school and college, and then tapered off since I got married. I find the Muse doesn't visit much when I'm happy, since my genius, like a dung beetle, always fed on big juicy piles of angst. I have a novelette to finish. I started it in high school and never really had any good inspiration for it. It was supposed to cap off a trilogy, and I never could get that into it. The first two were much more fun. My college roommate and I started a story about a tribe of Celtic-ish women warriors that got bogged down in the middle and ground to a halt when we both graduated. Could finish that, but I have a strong suspicion I (we?) was only writing it to keep my mind off my lack of dating prospects at the time.<br /><br />Am I sewing? I should be. I want to be, but I'm not. In our new house, I finally have the space to spread my work out. I have a half dozen projects in planning stages or unfinished, and a big stack of mending and alterations. But there's always something to cook or clean, and by the time I'm done with my chores, I'm too tired to do much of anything.<br /><br />Am I drawing? I need to be. I signed an illustration contract in October and haven't accomplished much. Right around Thanksgiving I discovered I have an overactive thyroid that's sucking all the energy out of me. After work, it's all I can do to throw a load of wash in, fix a quick stir fry, and collapse on the couch. I must push through the fatigue and make myself draw, however, because my author is counting on me.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-64424207505757966732009-11-15T18:34:00.000-08:002009-11-15T19:41:22.993-08:00Tobosthenes the Biter of MenIt's sad that I have to be prodded to keep posting on MLV. In my defense, I've been insanely busy lately, though not too busy to re-read some hoary old novels I probably should have memorized by now.<br /><br />Tonight, I'm supervising Will cleaning up the office. I'm also playing with Tobosthenes the Biter of Men. It's a good thing he's cute. *Mumbles indistinct threats* I know he's a puppy and he's going to do these things, but the not-so-little doggy is driving me nuts. He also farts. And by farts, I mean he emits a poisonous miasma from his tailpipe that could be classified as a biohazard. Hazmat suit, please! However, I am fond of the muttling, in spite of his very obvious (and painful) flaws. He's putting on weight nicely. I figure he's gained 8-10 pounds and has definitely gotten taller in the two months or so we've had him. Every evening I call him in, he seems subtly bigger. Is that how my mom looked at me when I was ten? We've guess that his physical maturity in human years should put him at the same level of coordination as a 10 year old boy. Which means he can barely walk without running into something. And by walk, I mean skidding at top speed, front legs splayed out, eyes full of panic. Dog fails at hardwood floors. The funniest example was one night when Will was at Taekwondo, Evan was on the laptop in the living room, and I was coming in from the kitchen to the living room. Toby was doing laps around the couch at top speed. He circled the coffee table and headed toward me. I sidestepped, but unfortunately didn't get out of the way fast enough. He crashed into my knees, nearly knocking me over, then picked himself up and did another lap. By the time he was done with his lap, I was standing by the back door, holding it open. Toby slid across the linoleum, gathered his hind legs for one enormous leap, sailed out the back door and belly flopped onto the pavement. He immediately bounced up, looking delighted with himself and the whole world. The expression on his face said "Ahhh, this is the life." Whatever you say, dog. Belly flopping on concrete isn't for me.<br /><br />As hazardous as it is, I'm discovering a sick desire to mess with the dog. Fully protected, of course, in TKD sparring helmet and leather gardening gloves. Just loudly saying GAHBLEAHBLEAHBLEAH makes him totally freak out, spinning in puppy pirouettes with jaws wide and teeth gleaming. If I'm far enough out of range, this is hilarious. If not, <span style="font-weight:bold;">ouch</span>. I'll be nursing the scratches for the next three days. He's also terrified of the dust mop. I discovered this purely by accident when I was sweeping up the sand that came off our bicycle tires. He started running around yipping in panic. I couldn't believe a stalwart, manly pup like Toby would be afraid of something that sweeps smoothly and silently, but he is. I haven't exactly <span style="font-style:italic;">chased</span> him with it (and boy am I lying right now), but I have been <span style="font-style:italic;">sweeping</span> more than usual. As my dear friend Annie would say, I'm *so* going to hell.<br /><br />I must admit I like Toby best when he's snoring at my feet while I watch TV. He's a great foot warmer, and it's cathartic to stroke his snoring head. I love his silky ears and his little puppy snores. However, if he doesn't shape up as he grows, especially if we have a kid, I'm sending him one way in a box with no airholes to Florida. My father in law seemed totally besotted by the pup, and they have more time than we do to train him and play with him. We'll see how it plays out.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-61676995142000675402009-10-05T14:21:00.001-07:002009-10-05T20:07:54.317-07:00Hungry for Fall<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNjGLkVcPF4xEV9hGekcDx2aPRa38dEUf4C1s91_3SrmF9TupQNbDd5T8gumuPz6ssLz5dUKyV8RuG-w2xI5yMvw7JmV4qa94BNrbEI8_Du_LqyEHf1K5kkr9mwJM3hR6Ahw0VKLOKhyphenhyphenZ/s1600-h/Toby.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNjGLkVcPF4xEV9hGekcDx2aPRa38dEUf4C1s91_3SrmF9TupQNbDd5T8gumuPz6ssLz5dUKyV8RuG-w2xI5yMvw7JmV4qa94BNrbEI8_Du_LqyEHf1K5kkr9mwJM3hR6Ahw0VKLOKhyphenhyphenZ/s200/Toby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389318383307705890" /></a><br />Let me bend my back now and take the beatings from certain persons who have been after me to update my blog for the last month. I'm looking at you, Work Buddy.<br /><br />The last 7 weeks have galloped by with the tick-tack of Toby's claws on my hardwood floors. Yes, there is now a Toby. Since we closed on our house we've acquired a roommate, a puppy, and some bicycles. We've broken the lawnmower and put some hammer head-sized holes in the closet wall trying to hang a shelf that just didn't want to stay up. We've hosted Will's parents, a birthday party, and a gaming night that wasn't supposed to go to 3 am, but did.<br /><br />We now have our 4th anniversary behind us, my birthday on the tenth, and the weather has almost been "chillish." Because I am always mildly hungry, my attention turns to the delights of autumn food. Not the candy apples and funnel cakes of county fairs, though those definitely factor in, but cold weather comfort food to make at home. With 30 minutes left on the clock, hungry and bored, I clicked over to Real Simple's recipe tab. Found <a href="http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/browse-all-recipes/macaroni-cheese-cauliflower-00000000008063/index.html"></a> a mouth-watering recipe for macaroni and cauliflower casserole. I'm eager to make it for Will since, like many young men, he could eat macaroni and cheese 2 meals a day, 6 days a week (Sunday being reserved for roast and leftover roast for supper). <br /><br />When the in-laws visited, my mother in law gave us a white ceramic pumpkin cookie jar and a dairy-free pumpkin cookie recipe. I'm excited to make that, since pumpkin is one of my favorite flavors, along with hazelnut, and let's face it, soy sauce.<br /><br />I'm also remembering with growling stomach, a fantastic white chili a hallmate made for all of us my senior year of college. I've Googled white chili recipes, but can't seem to find one that doesn't heavily rely on hot peppers. The crazy thing is, I don't really like chili because of the mushy texture of the beans, but that chili was just so good-and it could have been that we used Fritos for spoons-that I really want to try it again as the weather changes.<br /><br />I'm covered for cold weather lunch options. Madra Rua, the local Irish pub, has Angus burgers with inch and a half thick patties and steaming shepherd's pie. EVO, the foodie pizza place, has carrot-ginger bisque that is a little overwhelming on its own, but when sopped up with the house focaccia bread, is absolutely sublime. Unfortunately, I first tried it at the end of July when it was too hot to appreciate it properly. I'm waiting until mid-November to order it again; it should be just the thing then.<br /><br />Eating out is all very well, but I cherish daydreams of going for a long walk in the crisp air, then coming home to a warm house to make hot chocolate and eat pumpkin cookies, or of pulling pies out of the oven as the Man and Roommate of the house trudge in with the Christmas tree. Sometimes you just have to make the food yourself and experience the satisfaction of feeding your own.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-37526860785049881702009-08-13T19:41:00.000-07:002009-08-13T19:53:59.515-07:00In Which Will Does Cute ThingsWe're in the middle of the agonizing process of moving. Last night we tried to head to the apartment to load more stuff...and ended up at Chick fil-A, starving to death. From there, we went straight to Best Buy, and then to Target. By that time, it was raining (Again. This move has been undertaken during a 100% humidity weather system. Figures.), so we holed up there, ostensibly to look for over-the-door hooks and a TV console table. We found an espresso colored cabinet that fit the bill and wasn't too expensive. Will took the cart to the electronics section while I cruised the bed and bath section looking for those hooks. On my 287th pass, I began to suspect I might never find them and headed toward the back of the store to find Will. I practically bumped into him turning a corner. Some things had been added to the basket: a Josh Groban cd and a pair of royal blue goggles. He smiled his sweet, dimply smile and said "I think you lost some things. Here they are." Indeed I had lost those things. Papa Crabbe had given me Closer by Josh Groban to get me through my sinus surgery, and it had been borrowed by somebody and never returned. My old lime green and black goggles had been stolen, along with my swimsuit, sometime during the last weeks of my sophomore year of college. They could have had the matronly, high-necked blue swimsuit, but I needed those goggles! I can't/won't put my face underwater without goggles because my eyes refuse to get used to chlorine, and that lack had definitely made me antisocial at pool events. I couldn't believe he remembered! Just another example of how nicely my husband takes care of me.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-89228946691898291722009-08-13T14:19:00.000-07:002009-08-13T14:30:37.267-07:00Wise as SerpentsToday I got an e-mail forward from an older person I greatly admire. It was claiming that President Obama specifically targeted a Christian group at some function. I deleted it without watching the video it linked to. Christians seem particularly susceptible to urban legends. Hardly a day goes by without the religious right spreading chain e-mails guaranteed to provoke outrage or hysteria. Unfortunately, 99% of those "facts" are not true. Please, please, please, before you pass on a political chain e-mail, check its veracity. Snopes.com is specifically devoted to that end. Christians already look foolish enough to the world for our beliefs, which Jesus warned us would happen. Let's not add self-inflicted ignorance to the list of things Christians are mocked and written off for.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-51905469320597693512009-08-05T15:29:00.000-07:002009-08-06T11:02:46.931-07:00Op EdWork Buddy has been bugging me to post again. She's out on maternity and must be going a little nuts if she's so eager to hear from <span style="font-style:italic;">me</span> again. I'm still in the "waiting to close on my house" holding pattern. Kind of feels like I've died and gone to limbo. What's annoying is knowing that I won't need to use any of my own money for the down payment, but I still have to leave it in the bank so the lender can see it. That's all right. By this time next week, we'll be pretty much debt free because the second we get the keys in our hand, we're going to be making gigantic credit card payments. Time to get THAT business over with. I was supposed to have lunch with my other friend, Pretty Smile, today. She got trapped in meetings all day and couldn't make it. Oh well, we'll try again for Friday, and at any rate, Madra Rua fries are worth pretty much anything, so I don't mind getting stood up. Pretty Smile is also looking at a lot in a new-construction neighborhood. I'm excited for her about that. I think hearing about our house experience and meeting our realtor made her want a place of her own. Hope it goes well.<br /><br />None of that is related to the topic at hand.<br />Healthcare is all over the news right now. I'm trying to crystalize my beliefs on the subject, though I doubt I'll be asked to debate them anytime soon. First, I believe that the government should not have any say in how a person uses his money. He earned it; it's his. But since the government has authorized itself to appropriate a tidy chunk of earnings in taxes, I believe the government should tread very carefully when using those funds, because the people it took the money from are watching. Now to the healthcare issue. I don't think providing universal healthcare with taxpayer money is a legitimate purpose of the government. We have three branches: Congress makes laws, the Supreme Court interprets and applies the law, and the President declares war and makes treaties. I don't see healthcare in any of those functions. It could be argued that it falls under Congress making laws, but just because Congress <span style="font-style:italic;">can</span> make a law, doesn't mean that it should. A law should not restrict whether a person may purchase a legal service such as health insurance with his own money, how much of it he may buy, and for what products and services it may be used. That's going too far. Granted, the President has repeatedly said that healthcare plan will not interfere with private insurance, but I don't understand how it won't. If there is a public health plan, there is no incentive for employers to offer insurance coverage; in fact, dropping it will save companies a lot of money. Let's face it, the most desirable employees in terms of experience are often overweight and middle-aged. Won't be long before they have heart trouble, knee replacements, and Type 2 Diabetes. None of those things are cheap. A public health plan will also drive private insurance companies out of business, except for a few with wealthy clients. The rest of us won't be able to afford supplemental insurance under the inevitable increased tax burden. How does the government think to pay for all of this, anyway? Higher taxes.<br /><br />My next issue is who the public healthcare plan is supposed to benefit? The poor? They get Medicaid. The elderly? Medicare. The wealthy have no trouble affording the very best in healthcare. Most middle-class get insurance through their jobs if they choose to take it. What group does that leave out? Illegal immigrants? The homeless? Both of those groups are afforded care through emergency rooms and targeted non-profit centers. So it seems like every major group is pretty much covered. There are at least options if one chooses to take advantage of them. Or not. That's the freedom of choice. And I'm wondering where the public demand for universal healthcare came from? I watch, read, and listen to the news daily and I haven't heard anything about it since Hillarycare in the late 90s. From what I've heard going into the election, the public wanted more fiscal responsibility and a plan for ending the war. Nothing about healthcare.<br /><br />All of that aside, given the political climate in the country, I think that some move toward socialism in this area is probably going to happen. If it does, I would like to recommend the Australian plan rather than the Canadian or UK plan. As I understand it, the Australian government offers a baseline of healthcare to all and then individuals buy supplemental insurance. There doesn't seem to be the long waits for care or the rationing that plagues the UK. If this is what Obama is advocating, I'm more okay with it than a plan like the UK's, though I'd prefer that it not get messed with at all. It's hard to pin down what's actually going on with all the political bombast on the subject.<br /><br />What I would like to see no matter what happens is a reforming of attitudes toward pregnancy and childbirth. My insurance currently costs quadruple what Will's does, simply because I am of childbearing age. Pregnancy is not an illness, and should not have to wrack up such horrendous medical expenses. I just read an article on Slate's Double X womens' blog. The author told of receiving a hospital bill for $22,000, even though she had insurance. Turns out the loopholes in the policy enabled the company to only agree to cover $3,000 of the total. She fought the company and received a reimbursement, but stories like that highlight how out of hand this whole thing has gotten. In that sense, I think a re-assessment of insurance company operating procedures would be extremely useful even while universal healthcare is being debated.<br /><br />The other main issue that I see is that seniors are afraid healthcare rationing will kill them off. And yes, I think this will happen, not by design, but in practice. I am going to have to feel my way very carefully here. I have a problem with the way that geriatric care is handled. Many old people's lives are endless rounds of surgeries, pills, catheters, etc. Does it need to be this way? Is it really worth it to perform a procedure on someone in their last illness that will perhaps prolong their life for a semi-conscious, heavily drugged week? I'm not even going to talk about the financial cost that much, but the other day I heard a woman call in to a talk radio show. She said her father had cancer, and they might have to lose their family farm in order to pay for his treatment, but they'd do it to keep him alive. The woman was middle aged, which would make her father elderly. There seems to be a denial that old age and illness are the primary means by which humans meet their Maker. Clearly, people without the Lord have everything to fear from death. But there seems to be something extra undignified about the way Americans scramble to stay alive, bankrupting their families, drawing out debilitating illnesses for years. Maybe it's the era, maybe it's Western culture. I can't quite put my finger on who started it, but there's no denying that there is widespread fear of aging and death. Human frames are temporary. 70-80 years or so, and it falls apart on its own. There's something painful, almost funny, about the way people are surprised when they're wrinkled, stiff, and unwell. The way they talk, you'd think it was a surprise. But age doesn't sneak up on anybody. We feel the clock ticking down. We move forward through time as our structure breaks down. The water tower rusts, the picket fence rots, and so do we. I have always thought that old age was the time to "put one's house in order," as the prophet Isaiah said to King Hezekiah. In that sense, I agree that geriatric medicine should focus on hospice and palliative care. Knowing that one cannot live forever should lead the sick to evaluate any treatment offered in that light. <br /><br />And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,<br />And then from hour to hour we rot and rot;<br />And thereby hangs a tale. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">As You Like It<br /> William Shakespeare</span>Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-20472498992936481742009-07-06T15:26:00.001-07:002009-07-06T15:26:57.957-07:00Crabby FifthThe highlight of being at church with the Crabbes was being given a picture of my mother when she was in her early 20s. Her old friends Bill and Joann Robinson (She taught two of their children) attend Cornerstone and they were eager to see what Judy’s daughter looked like. Bill told a hilarious story about how his sons complained that “Miss Dryfhout broke the yardstick on them!” So Bill made a long, sturdy paddle and left it on her desk anonymously. Then his sons complained that she had a real paddle and was not shy in applying it! He said he waited years to tell her who her paddle benefactor was. I was delighted to have the picture, which looked like a yearbook photo. In it, Mom has shoulder-length flipped hair and is wearing the stereotypical early-70s paisley blouse. She’s also very cute. Sadly, I don’t look a thing like her. It would have been nice to compare pictures of us at the same age. Our similarity is more of a general likeness of gait and mannerism. And one day, I hope we have a likeness of character, which would mean more to me than having her cheekbones.<br /><br />After church, the Crabbes took us to Twin Dragons. Food was cold and iffy, except for the stir fry bar (like Mongolian BBQ, but not. Wish it had been). The building was notable, though. It had a red, peaked roof that was unmistakably Chinese, but also unmistakably mountain lodge. I give points to the architect on that one.<br /><br />We took leave of the Crabbes mid-afternoon and started down the road. Top was up this time. We’d learned our lesson about the sun. Made a stop in Greenville to see our friend Brittany and grab a snack. Spent too long with her, then got down the road. Unfortunately, around Columbia it seemed like we drove into a Hollywood rain machine. Horrible storm. Got wet. But you already know this part. You’ve seen the movie trailer.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-55425987051222044162009-07-06T15:22:00.002-07:002009-07-06T15:26:02.909-07:00Crabby FourthSaturday, Nana took us to her favorite pottery, Mud Dabbers. It was a wonderland of the beautifully hand-crafted. There was every possible vessel one could imagine, from small dishes with spikes in the middle especially for baking apples, to Ikebana vases. I picked out a navy blue-glazed bowl with blue-on-blue mottling in the bottom. Just the right size for Chinese noodles. Nana insisted on buying it for me. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of it since it’s microwave, oven, and dishwasher safe. <br /><br />On our way back up the mountain, we stopped at Looking Glass Falls. Nana said the county contains the most waterfalls in the US, a whopping 250. Looking Glass Falls was beautiful! We took a few pictures with her camera. We found out ours had gone to the great Photoshop in the sky Friday morning when we changed the batteries. Oh well. Pictures will be on Facebook soon. Then back up to Ridge Haven where we picked up Sophy and went to the Cornerstone church picnic on the grounds, THEN went to a bonfire for the camp counselors at the home of the Linvilles. <br /><br />John Linville provides bluegrass music for the evening camp gatherings. He and his wife are HUGE hippies. They live in a house that defied classification. I couldn’t even decide whether it was a hundred years old, or just made to look like it. I doubt it was up to code, either way. The yard was filled with overgrown plants-both flowering and food plants-and a glorious profusion of junk was scattered through the long grass. A rusted tandem bike was next to a brilliantly executed piece of stained glass was next to a broken window frame, etc. There was a bamboo grove full of fireflies. A home-made swing under a woven tree-branch arbor so overgrown it was hard to sit without being prickled. There were three separate sheds, all ramshackle, all crammed with unrelated objects. It was all terribly interesting and a little alarming. There was even a long track down to a beautiful broad river that involved crossing a huge mossy log. The halfway point to the river was a well-used firepit and lean-to. Even though I just met the Linvilles, there was no doubt in my mind that they enjoy their eccentric lifestyle to the fullest, and their hospitality was certainly impeccable. <br /><br />When John Linville was sure the twenty or so young people had talked themselves out, he packed up the grill and we all piled back into cars to go to downtown Brevard for fireworks. Will bought a lemon-berry slush at Sonic and we slurped as we watched the explosions. One of the boys found a dead white squirrel. White, but not albino, squirrels are peculiar to Brevard. They’re ordinary squirrels, except they’re cream colored. Quite pretty. I was glad we were able to see a live one on the way to church the next morning.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-80276718733680944552009-07-06T15:22:00.001-07:002009-07-06T15:22:49.374-07:00Crabby ThirdIf this were a movie trailer, the scene would open on a terrible rainstorm. A beleaguered red convertible with broken windshield wipers and a leaky canopy inches along the highway in the dark. Inside are two damp, terrified young people. Will they make it home? Will they even make it to the next gas station to wait out the worst of the rain? Will the steam cloud kicked up by the next semi truck send them into a ditch they couldn’t see? All this and more, in “Home to Charleston!”<br /><br />Now that you know how the trip ends and that we lived, I’ll back up. Our dear friends the Crabbes, whom I love as grandparents, invited us to come to their mountain cabin in Brevard at Ridge Haven. Retired, they volunteer at the Christian camp. We hadn’t seen them since an old friend’s wedding in March, and before that, hadn’t seen them since we got married. Obviously, we were long overdue for some Crabbiness, plus Will’s sister Sophy is a camp counselor at Ridge Haven this summer, so that was added incentive to throw our bags in the back of the car and take off! Five blissful hours of wind in the face, matted hair, Chick Fil-A milkshake, watching Will’s arms and nose turn the color of stew meat….Yes, Will got the inaugural sunburn of the season. And now he’s peeling all over his face and looks like a leper. I feel really sorry for the poor thing. I rolled in SPF 50 until thoroughly slimed (yuck). I don’t like the feel of sunscreen on me. Hate to feel so oily, but skin cancer runs in the Dutch side of the family. Every time I go outside for longer than five minutes, the sun goes “Oh, there she is. SCORCH!” The only place I missed was my ears. I usually don’t think about them because I don’t pull my hair back, but in the Eclipse, I had to. It was either that or breathe in hair for five hours. My ears are raw and peeling and hurt pretty badly. I’m sorry he has that level of misery on his whole face, but he says it doesn’t hurt that badly.<br /><br />We met Nana (Martha) Crabbe at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain. Brevard is rural, lush, and sown everywhere with orange lilies. Stunning! The air was soft and cool. I think the highest high over the three days was 75 degrees. We followed her up a narrow, sometimes single-lane road full of hairpin turns, ups and downs. Runaway mine train rides have nothing on this road! I’m afraid all that bouncing around made me a bit queasy. Funny, I’ve never been carsick before, but this road was steeper and narrower than anything Lookout Mountain could dish out. She led us to a large cabin on a gravel road. The front yard was filled with interesting boulders and birdbaths. There must have been half a dozen log-house style birdhouses and even more bird feeders. The house itself is a 4-bedroom, 2 story with a wrap-around deck. (Papa told a story about a BEAR visiting the bird feeder on their porch) It’s decorated with a sophisticated rustic look, in medium blues, navies, and cranberries. Even has the requisite creaky floors. But the most important decoration is in the downstairs bedroom. Our wedding picture is sitting on the dresser in between theirs and their adopted son’s. I feel so honored and loved!<br /><br />We arrived around 3:30 and I talked to Papa (Max) while Nana fixed a chicken casserole. He wanted to know what was going on at Pinewoods (we talked about all the men who have died, especially Uncle Buddy. He’s found a friend and prayer partner at Cornerstone, but still misses Buddy terribly, as we all do) and filled me in on old Aletheia people. Found out my basketball and PE coach has been separated from his wife and two school-age sons for a year because of his poor behavior. An affair, an apparent apostasy. I really didn’t like either of them, but I am very sorry to hear of their difficulties. I would never wish that kind of trouble on anybody and I hope he allows Godly counsel to get through to him. Maybe that marriage can be restored someday. Too bad.<br /><br />Anyway, after a tasty supper of casserole (Campbell’s cream of chicken soup, sour cream, poppy seeds, chicken, and bread crumbs), we went down the hill part way to Ridge Haven to meet Sophy. She was with some of her campers, who promptly peppered us with questions. Were we so and so’s mom and dad? ARGH! I felt so old! I guess to a ten year old, anybody over six feet tall (Will) or who has a full rack (me) must be parents. My ego hasn’t really recovered yet.<br /><br />After that, we went back to the Crabbes and watched a movie. I chose Secondhand Lions out of their black hole of chick flicks. Really, really cute movie. Wasn’t saccharine, but was very sweet and surprisingly manly. Definitely recommend it.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4978736683632963839.post-22645900135086632992009-06-13T21:13:00.000-07:002009-06-13T22:00:41.545-07:00UpdateNothing to report except that I have nothing to report. All of my time and energy for the last six weeks or so has been completely consumed with finding a house. Our lease is up in mid-July and Will and I are both tired of being cramped. We've had good times in this apartment, and I think it's still the cutest apartment I've ever seen, but it's still. an. apartment. We're piled on top of each other in the office, and we're still sleeping on just a mattress and box spring because our bedroom is so small there's not really any room for both our dressers and a large bed frame. Not to mention it would be nice to be able to use the dining room table again to eat on instead of its current function as a pig pedestal. This morning we signed offer letter papers for the fourth time. Our realtor has been an absolute doll and we couldn't be more pleased with her, but time is wearing on and I just want to find and claim my home.<br /><br />I'm having fun scouring craigslist for furniture, but it's hard to envision what I'll buy since I don't know where we'll be living yet. If we get the house we offered for, I'm going to use the formal dining room as my workroom/library. I spotted the cutest contemporary chaise. I'm dreaming of lying there like Lady Bountiful surrounded by my books, sewing projects, and piano. I know that's truly the impractical dream of a childless woman, but if Will gets his office space, why shouldn't I have my library? It'll all go out the window eventually, of course. But for the meantime, I can't interpret every tummyache as a sign of pregnancy. That's a quick and easy way to go completely nuts, especially since we're taking a laissez-faire approach to getting me knocked up.<br /><br />So we're supposed to hear by Sunday evening whether our offer was accepted. I think our realtor wants to wrap this up as badly as we do. She's acting very determined lately. Something to pray about.Anna Beershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03085936806444720301noreply@blogger.com0